Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize!
A/N: I've had this little ficlet in my head for awhile. In need of some feel-good Emma/Henry sickfic fluff? Look no further, it's here!
Much thanks to starophie for the assist and Melissa for being my fabulous beta.
Emma made her way up the stairs slowly, trying to keep the tray as still as possible. The bowl of soup shifted slightly and some of the liquid spilled over the edge. Emma balanced the tray against her hip as she knocked on the door. There was no answer. She waited a moment, then pushed the door open.
"Henry?"
Henry was asleep. Emma walked over and set the tray down on the nightstand. Henry's back was to her, the blankets pulled up to his neck to ward off the fever-induced chill. Emma hesitated before reaching out and brushing his bangs back from his forehead. He was still burning up. Emma pulled back, wondering if she should wake him so he could eat, or just let him sleep. She supposed she could heat up the soup again later.
She started toward the door, but Henry's voice pulled her back. "Emma?"
Emma turned around. "Hey, kid." She walked back to the bed. "How're you feeling?"
Henry groaned as he turned to face her. "Still bad."
"Well, it's the flu," Emma said sympathetically. "It doesn't get better overnight." She wavered before sitting down next to him, which made Henry smile. "Do you feel like eating?" Emma asked. She gestured toward the tray. "Mary Margaret made you some soup. She says it's her secret recipe."
Henry glanced at the bowl before slowly pulling himself into a sitting position. Emma set the tray down in front of him and gave him the spoon. Henry took a spoonful and sniffed it. "Chicken noodle?"
"I think so," Emma replied. "I didn't try it, but David said it was good."
Henry swallowed and set the spoon back down. "I can't taste anything."
Emma nodded. "That's understandable. I can't taste anything when I'm sick either." She considered him, taking in his bleary eyes and flushed cheeks before adding, "You should probably try to eat more of it, though. Keep your strength up. Your body needs food even if you don't feel like it does."
Henry picked up the spoon and swallowed another spoonful. "If you say so."
Emma chewed her lip, watching him eat. She became increasingly aware of the fact she should probably say or do something comforting, but she couldn't think of what. She was no good at this sort of thing, never had been. If she'd had her way, she wouldn't have brought Henry the soup at all. Mary Margaret was much better suited for the maternal duties.
She wondered what Regina had done. Regina's words, spoken what felt like a lifetime ago, echoed in her head. She was the one who had soothed every fever. She had been there for Henry's entire life, not Emma. And if Emma were honest with herself, she would admit that comfort did not come easily to her. She was getting better at it, but even now, looking at her sick son, she didn't know what to do. Love was one thing; being a nurturing mother was another.
Emma shifted uncomfortably, looking away from Henry. "Look, kid…" she began. "I'm really not good at this kind of thing."
She heard Henry put down the spoon. "What kind of thing?"
"You know…" Emma met his eyes. "This kind of thing. The comfort thing." The mothering thing.
"You're doing fine," Henry insisted. "Really," he added, when Emma raised her eyebrows skeptically. "You're here, that's what matters. What else are you supposed to do?"
"I don't know," Emma said. "Lie down with you? Rub your back? Sing a lullaby until you fall asleep again?"
Henry smiled. "You don't sing."
"You're right," Emma replied. "I don't."
Henry patted the space next to him on the bed. "Just stay here. It's lonely up here all alone."
Emma smiled and moved the tray out of the way so she could scoot closer to Henry. She had to admit, it was nice to feel needed.
"Not too close," Henry warned. "I don't want to get you sick, too."
"I'll be fine," Emma assured him. "Lucky for me, I don't get sick easily."
Henry leaned back against the pillows. "That's good," he said. "Being sick sucks."
"Yeah," Emma agreed. "Can I bring you anything? Are you too hot? Or cold?"
Henry shook his head. "I'm fine."
Emma bit her lip, wondering what else she should do. Henry looked exhausted. She placed her hand over his. Even that was burning up.
"Go to sleep," Emma told him when she noticed he was struggling to keep his eyes open. "You're sick, you need your rest."
"But I asked you to stay," Henry said. "It won't be any fun for you if I'm asleep."
Emma smiled. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep. I don't mind," she added in response to Henry's uncertain expression. "Is the book up here? I could read you one of the stories."
Henry gestured toward the bookshelf. "I think it's over there." Emma began to stand up, but Henry grabbed her hand. "Wait. I don't want you to read me a story. Can you tell me one instead?"
"I don't know any stories," Emma said quickly. "I'm not a fairy tale character, remember? The stories I learned are aren't real."
"I don't want a fairy tale story," Henry said. "I want you to tell me your story." When Emma continued to look confused, Henry added, "About when you went to the fairy tale world with Mary Margaret."
"Oh…" Emma's voice trailed off. She had avoided sharing many of the details about her trip to the fairy tale world beyond the fact that there were ogres. She generally avoided thinking about the fairy tale world because it was too intense. She still didn't understand her emotions, hadn't come to terms with the fact that she'd been to the land with magic. She had learned many things about her mother and her parents' plan for their future together, before Regina's curse had wrenched them apart. It hurt too much to think about everything that could have been. She hadn't forgotten what it felt like, standing in her ruined nursery, confessing to Mary Margaret her deepest feelings of loss and abandonment.
"You don't have to," Henry said quietly, when he realized how long Emma had been silent. "It's okay. We can read one from the book instead."
Emma sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just hard to talk about it," she explained. "It all happened so fast. The curse was broken, I'd just met my parents, and then I was thrown into the fairy-tale world that I didn't even know existed the day before. And then being there, with Mary Margaret…" She trailed off.
"It's okay," Henry said after a moment. "I understand."
"You do?" Emma replied.
Henry nodded. "Yeah. You grew up alone. And now have your parents. And me. That's a lot of people for someone who spent their life alone."
"Yeah," Emma agreed. "It is. But I'm trying to get better."
"I know," Henry said, smiling. "And I can be patient. This is a good start," he continued, patting the bed. "You being here with me. Regina never sat with me when I was sick."
"Really?" Emma asked, Regina's words echoing in her head. Had she lied? Emma shook the feelings aside. It was hard enough trying to be Henry's mother without comparing herself to Regina. It didn't matter what Regina had or hadn't done; all the mattered was what she, Emma, did now.
"Will you still read me a story from the book?" Henry asked, pulling Emma from her thoughts.
Emma smiled. "Of course." She stood up and went over to retrieve the book from the shelf. As she carried it back, she began, "It's just hard, you know? I never had this – any of it – what you have. I didn't have a family-"
"And now you do," Henry finished. He reached for Emma's hand, and she took his, sitting back down on the bed with the book on her lap. "I know you didn't have a family. But until you came here, I didn't really have one either."
Emma squeezed his hand. "Thanks, kid."
Henry smiled in response and lay back against the pillows, eyeing the book. Emma returned the smile and opened the book to the first story.
"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…"
…a mother and son finally found their family.
A/N: There you go, I hope you enjoyed! Now how about a nice review? I may continue...flu viruses do spread fast, you know...